


No One Else

by Insomnia_Productions



Series: The Rat Revolution (Mat/Rand Drabbles) [1]
Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Bel Tine, Book 01: The Eye of the World, Dancing, Feelings Realization, Fluff, I'm calling this The Rat Revolution, M/M, Rand Just Wants Mat To Smile Again, Reminiscing, a dash of hurt/comfort sort of, and if no one else wants to I Will Do It Myself, bc that arc gave me life, set during the Journey To Caemlyn, soft, this fandom needs more mat/rand fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 04:15:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19716019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insomnia_Productions/pseuds/Insomnia_Productions
Summary: “Hey, Mat, do you want to dance with me?”Mat studies him skeptically. “What are you talking about? It’s the middle of the night, we’re on a road in the middle of nowhere, and there’s no music.”“I know, but, still, do you want to dance?”OR:The journey to Caemlyn has been a waking nightmare, and there's still so far to go. Rand is beginning to lose hope, but he thinks, if he can just get Mat to smile, just once... maybe that would be enough.





	No One Else

There is no rain tonight. Rand should thank the Light for small mercies, but it’s hard to feel thankful when he’s sitting curled under a hedge, sticks and stones digging painfully into his legs and back. The air is no warmer for the lack of rain, and Rand’s cloak is still wet from yesterday, and whatever heat he does have is rapidly being lost to Mat, who sits pressed flush against his side and feels colder than the snow that still lines the streets. Eyes closed, Rand tries to summon the void, tries to seek warmth in the dull light of the flame. It’s hard to concentrate, though, with Mat shivering so violently against him. Rand abandons the flame and void, and looks instead to his oldest friend. 

Mat’s face is pale, a ghastly imitation of the Fades he used to draw on bits of scratch paper and hold against his face, lurking behind trees to leap out and scare passersby. The memory brings a smile, before Rand remembers the Fade that was searching for them in the last village. He shakes his head, banishing the thought. Again, he returns his attention to Mat. Come to think of it, he hasn’t seen Mat smile in days, maybe weeks—not since Shadar Logoth. Not since he picked up that dagger. Rand can feel the outline of it pressed between him and Mat; even cushioned by layers of cloth, he thinks he can feel its sharpness. 

By his side, Mat stirs. His eyes flutter open, dull and dark, and he shifts against Rand, peering bearily at the half-moon above. He looks so tired. He looks like the very image of Death itself. Suddenly Rand wants nothing more than to see him smile. Nudging his friend, he starts to talk. 

“Mat. Hey, Mat. Do you remember that first day of spring, a few years ago?” Mat says nothing, only looks at him. Rand presses on. “We must have been eleven or twelve. Do you remember? I hadn’t taken three steps into Emond’s Field before you came running out with mud all over you, holding the first flower of spring…” Rand begins to smile. “You were so excited, and I asked you, if you’d plucked the first flower, how was anyone supposed to know it was spring? And then you tried to take it back and bury it where you found it…” 

Mat’s lips twitch. It isn’t a smile, but it’s something. Encouraged, Rand continues. “And remember when we first met, when we were five? You didn’t waste any time dragging me into your life of crime.” 

At this, Mat speaks. His voice is dry and rasping, but there is a hint of humor in it. “We painted the Coplin sheep like rainbows. You were so scared the whole time, you were like a baby sheep yourself.” 

Rand’s smile widens, half at the memory and half in relief. It’s been a few days since Mat has said anything that wasn’t dark and foreboding. “I was scared? I was  _ five _ . What about three winters ago, when we were fifteen, and I found you crying in the forest?” 

Mat frowns, affronted, and a little light returns to his eyes. “It was the middle of the night—there are  _ wolves _ —” He folds his arms and tries to look reproachful, but the effect is diminished as he remains pressed against Rand. “Besides, I was there for  _ you _ , to surprise you on  _ your _ birthday, so, really, it was all your fault. How was I to know you had already come to Emond’s Field?” 

Rand snorts. “If that makes you feel better.” He shakes his head. “Sometimes I wonder how your mind works, Mat. It’s a good thing Perrin saw you sneaking out and alerted the village, or else you  _ really  _ would’ve had a reason to cry.” Almost immediately, he regrets his words as Mat stiffens. Quickly, Rand adds, “He’s alive, you know. Perrin. I know he is. They all are.” 

“Right,” Mat says dully. The light is gone again. He turns back to the moon, and Rand curses himself in his head. He is still trying to work out what to say when Mat’s voice comes again, soft and sullen. “Remember Bel Tine? When we were sixteen?” 

Rand remembers. He doesn’t want to, still doesn’t fully understand it, but the memories rise, unbidden, inevitable. 

-

It was the evening of Bel Tine, some two springs ago. Egwene had been pretty in a soft white dress and flowers in her hair, and a small braid just by her ear, hidden under her dark locks so that the older women wouldn’t see it. Rand had danced with her all day, but it was growing late and he had slipped away to the woods for some quiet. 

Mat was there, sitting cross legged amongst the leaves, staring off into the trees. Rand realized that he had not seen Mat in hours. This was strange; usually, if there was ever a festival, Mat was at the heart of it, sparking laughter and delight and twirling girls and boys alike across the Green. It was unusual to see him sitting alone, especially during Bel Tine. 

Rand went to sit beside him. For a moment, there was no response, and Rand thought that Mat had not noticed him. Then Mat shifted and, not looking away from the trees, said, “What happened? Did Egwene finally get sick of you?”

Was there a hint of bitterness in his voice? Rand frowned. “No, I just got tired. What are you doing out here alone?” 

Mat shrugged. “Didn’t feel like dancing.” 

“You?” Rand questioned disbelievingly. “Right.” 

Now Mat turned to him, scowling. “You don’t have to believe me. But don’t bother me over it. Go away.” 

He turned back to the trees. Rand frowned again. “Not until you tell me what’s wrong.” 

“Nothing. Go away.” 

Rand studied his friend. He was closed in on himself, back hunched and knees pulled to his chest, and his lips were downturned. Washed in the pink and gold light of approaching dusk, he looked melancholy and strangely ethereal, like a fae prince from a child’s fairytale. Rand felt as though he could say one wrong word and Mat would disappear. Knowing Mat and his moods, that was very likely, fae prince or no. But Rand wasn’t one to give up easily, either. He got to his feet and brushed the dirt from his trousers. Back in the village, the music slowed, stopped, and then, after a moment, a new tune emerged, light and energetic. Rand looked at Mat. 

“Want to dance?”

Finally, Mat’s dismal frown fell away, replaced by surprise as he looked questioningly at Rand. “What?”

“We can hear the music from here. It’s a nice song. Want to dance with me?” 

Mat shook his head. “No.” 

“Come on. It’s Bel Tine. You have to dance at least once.” 

Mat glared at him for a moment, and then suddenly stood up and sighed. “If I say yes, will you leave me alone?” 

“Deal.” 

Mat sighed again, but he took the offered hand. “Fine, then. One dance.” 

Rand grinned. 

One dance turned into two, into three, into four, and soon the sun was low and red on the horizon, and the day was almost up. The music had slowed; it was traditional to end on a slow song, to bring everyone’s spirits back to a reasonable level before the night. Turning, swaying slowly in the woods with Mat, Rand found his gaze lingering on his friend, on the flush in his cheeks and the shine in his warm eyes, on the way the red light glowed around him. There was a heat in his chest, and it was new and strange, and he didn’t know what it meant, but he didn’t necessarily dislike it, either. He saw Mat smile, felt the heat grow, heard his name—

-

“Rand?”

The memory falls away. Not that there was more to remember. Tam had called him, then, and he had left, and it had never happened again. Whatever ‘it’ was. 

Mat frowns at him. “Rand?”

“I’m fine. I was just…” He trails off as, suddenly, an idea sparks in his head. “Hey, Mat, do you want to dance with me?”

Mat studies him skeptically. “What are you talking about? It’s the middle of the night, we’re on a road in the middle of nowhere, and there’s no music.” 

“I know, but, still, do you want to dance?” 

After squinting at him a moment longer, Mat huffs out something close to a laugh. “I don’t understand you at all, Rand. But fine. We can... dance.” 

Rand stands and, taking Mat’s hands, pulls him onto the street. The moon hangs low above them. Rand can see it reflected in Mat’s eyes. He doesn’t look anything like he had that day, ill and exhausted as he is, but Rand finds that that does not seem to matter. If he could just get Mat to smile… 

Rand thinks back to a tune Thom had taught him on the flute. It was a light-hearted melody, bright and optimistic. A good fit. He begins to hum it softly, leading Mat into the dance, step by step. Mat is hesitant, but it is not long before he begins to relax, allowing himself to be led. Rand has barely finished the tune before Mat begins to hum a song of his own, and they go back and forth like that until their combined repertoire of music is all but exhausted. When, at last, it is Rand’s turn again, he finds that he has only one melody left: the slow song from Bel Tine two years ago. Mat seems to have reached the same conclusion, for, as Rand begins to hum the tune, Mat joins in. He sings softly, lowly, and Rand watches him in surprise; he had not realized that the song had words. 

The song speaks of times long passed and times yet to pass; of forgotten sorrows and joys to come, of past heartbreaks and future loves. Mat is absorbed in the lyrics, gaze drifting distractedly to the distance as he sings. Rand takes the opportunity to watch him, although he cannot be sure why. Here, under the moonlight, Mat doesn’t look so ill, so haunted. There’s a glint of light in his eyes, and the dancing has brought some color back into his cheeks so that he doesn’t seem quite so pale. Even so, it is undeniable that he has changed. He is not the same sixteen-year-old boy Rand danced with at Bel Tine two years ago, no more than he is the same farmboy who left the Two Rivers just a few months ago. There is something pained, something lost, in his eyes. He is thinner than before, older, forehead creased from too many weeks of worry. Rand wonders if the others would notice how, under all the layers of mischief and bravado, Mat has changed as much as the rest of them. He is so absorbed in his thoughts that he does not notice for some time that the song has ended. 

When Rand does pull himself out of his thoughts, he realizes that they have stopped dancing, and are standing, motionless, in the middle of the road, still holding onto each other. Mat is looking quizzically at him, but all Rand sees is the small, uncertain smile that has— _ finally _ —appeared on his lips. 

And then, in that moment, Rand understands. 

“Rand?” Mat probes, and Rand pulls him close and wraps his arms around him. Mat lets out a sound of surprise, but returns the hug easily. Rand can feel the confusion, can almost hear the questions that Mat must be struggling to hold back, but he ignores all that for favor of burying his face in Mat’s hair. He  _ understands _ , and just for now, just for this moment, nothing else matters. 

Mat shifts in his arms, and Rand can feel him smile against his skin, and he thinks, fleetingly, that perhaps Mat understands, too. 

Right now, that’s enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> god this ship needs more content
> 
> If you've gotten to the end, thank you so much for reading! Please consider leaving a comment if you liked it - I need constant validation.
> 
> I plan to write one of these for every book in the series as I go through my re-read, so, if you liked this one... stick around for more! 
> 
> And, hey, if you like Mat/Rand or even just WoT in general, come scream at me on Tumblr @insomnia-productions! My DMs are always open for yelling :)


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